


Barba With The Belt

by RedHybernaculum



Category: ADA Rafael Barba, Law & Order: SVU, Raul Esparza - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9911531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHybernaculum/pseuds/RedHybernaculum
Summary: After the events of Twenty-Five Acts Barba comes home to his girlfriend who harbors a naughty secret.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that Barba is a gentleman in every sense of the word. He respects his partner and treats them with affection and tenderness. His mother taught him to be this way and his father showed him exactly what he shouldn’t become. That being said when I look at him I see somebody with a lot of repressed urges. Being the kid from the rough part of town trying to make it in the world of Ivy Leaguers he has to be on his toes, keep his temper and tastes in check, and never, never fuck up. He’s controlled and shielded. So what happens after you’ve been in a relationship with him for a few months, gotten comfortable in the sweetness of love-making, and maybe want Rafa to indulge in being a naughty boy for a little while…

It’s late, almost midnight. You’re at home, curled up on the couch, watching tv, well not really watching, more like waiting with a little background noise. You have another sip of wine and finally decide to switch it off. The quiet settles around with the murmur of the city slipping through the window. It’s never really without noise here, and that is more comforting than most realize. A warm, spring breeze flutters the drapes. Maybe you ought to go to bed.

The key turns in the lock in the foyer with a heavy clunk. A briefcase hits the floor and keys jingle in the brass dish. Rafael is loosening his tie as he enters the room. He stops in the doorway, a kind of defeat in his eyes. He hadn’t realized you’d still be up.

“Mi amada, oh, siento mucho llegar tarde. You shouldn’t have waited.” He plops down next to you, kissing you, all loving and contrite.

You give a small, tired smile as he stands back up to take his jacket off, the wine swimming in your veins, just enough, “It’s ok. How was it today? You had that guy with the tv show on the stand today, right?”

Your gaze fallowed him across the room to the small tray of decanters and crystal glasses.

“Yes, and hypothetically I exposed him for what he really was to the jury,” he answers, pouring himself two fingers of scotch.

“Hypothetically,” you parrot back. “And a… just what was he… really?”

“A controlling creep who didn’t understand the word no,” he replies over the rim of his glass.

Rafael sinks back into the couch, draining the contents of the glass, letting his arms spread along the width of the back of the sofa, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath that comes out in a sigh.

You decide to set your glass down on the coffee table and crawl into his lap, straddling him, plucking the tumbler from his hand and stretching out your body to set it next to your glass on the table. The smooth arch of you torso, the increased pressure against his groin and he has no choice but to touch you, sliding his hands along your waist and grabbing your hips.

You run your hands down his chest, the blue striped shirt a little wrinkled, his yellow tie askew, and those suspenders just a hair uneven. It is a teasing sort of game you play with him, making him wait while you consider your prey. He doesn’t move, but you can feel his heartbeat picking up pace. His pale eyes don’t waver from your face. He is so placid there on the surface.

“Why was he a creep?” your voice has an air of detached curiosity as you fiddle further with the soft, golden silk of his tie, “What did he … a … do?”

“You haven’t watched the news?”

“Nope,” you pop a button out of it’s hole.

He squirms a little under you and you make sure to put all your weight into his lap.

With a deep breath he begins, “He is a accused of raping a woman while he had a belt wrapped around her neck so tight it left bruises. His defense is that she liked rough sex and he was merely indulging her.”

“So he’s a creep because he raped a woman, fair enough.”

“And he put a belt around her neck when she hadn’t asked for it,” he hesitates, but goes on, “I asked him to demonstrate on me for the court. It’s how I nailed the son of a bitch.”

“You had him put a belt around your neck?” you finally look up at him, meeting his gaze, a bit perturbed by the thought.

With confidence and a smirk, he traces his finger along your collarbone and down the strap of your camisole, “Actually I put the belt on, I just had him pull it.”

You grab his chin and pull back his wondering eye and after a moment he continues, “He didn’t hurt me. No marks. No problema. And the jury gets to see what he’s really like with the leather strap in his hand.”

A moment of silence elapses and you are caught on the cusp of a decision. You want to scold him for being so reckless, but that might mean a fight, which you knew you couldn’t win and truly hadn’t the heart to win. On the other hand, there was the intrigue of the belt, an object that held a kind of taboo power over you. Rafi had always been so sweet with you, so giving and powerful and you never asked for favors, but…

“How was it?” you ask.

“The belt? Strange, but, um… interesting.” his voice rose an octave, “I certainly don’t see the appeal of being choked with it. I mean who would want that?”

You sat there, spinning on the options of what to say next, debating internally to spit out ‘Well, me, for one.’

“What?” he asked cautiously.

“Well…” you try.

“Well? Well what?”

You start fiddling again.

“If you have something to say,” he provoked.

“Well…maybe…I might…um…be um…interested in,” you look up, gauging his reaction.

“In being choked with a belt?” he sputters.

You drop your gaze again, “Nevermind.”

From the way he asks, the look of concern on his features, you know you’ve made him uncomfortable. However, he collects himself quickly.

“Why haven’t you ever said anything about it before?”

“Well I didn’t want to give you the wrong impression. I didn’t want to push you or make you uncomfortable. And with the dark crap you have to deal with at work…I guess I just didn’t want you to have to deal with it when you came home at night,” you ramble off the list quickly, “Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s fine. Maybe we should just go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

You kiss him softly, letting your lips linger against him. It takes him a beat before he kisses back.

Nothing more is said as you climb off him and take your glasses to the kitchen. He heads for the shower and you pour another dram of Shiraz before retiring.

In the deluge of hot water pelting his tight shoulders, Rafael thinks on the feeling of being strangled by the demented Mr. Cain, but his thoughts are tempered by the look of disappointment on your face when he reacted. You have always been a ‘good girl’, putting on the show of being a good citizen and supportive girlfriend, which wasn’t to say you weren’t truly either of those things, but a secret dark side, that was something he hadn’t anticipated, and he hated being caught off guard. The notion of hurting a woman disgusted him, but in his years of experience that violence was always an act of asserting control without consent, it had never really occurred to him that anybody he wound up with, especially a woman he could take to art galas and introduce to colleagues, could be into S & M.

But, still, there was that haunting look on your face when you uttered, ‘Nevermind,’ and slunk off like a wounded animal. And the way you hadn’t even mentioned it for the months you’d been together. He knew you had a solid grasp of his need for privacy and control. He shut the water off. ‘Oh the nightmare it would be if the public ever found out I did those kinds of things with my girlfriend.’ He could practically see the headlines.

More importantly, ‘Do I just tell myself I’m not into it? Try to brush those thoughts off as byproduct of my work? Tell myself it’s something I couldn’t and shouldn’t have in my life?’

He grabs the towel from the rack and slides the terrycloth over his face, wiping the droplets from his skin, inhaling slowly. ‘I’m overthinking this.’

Rafi finds you curled up on your side of the bed, back to him. He slips under the covers, his hand sliding down your waist, and buries his face into the nape of your neck, taking in your scent, kissing your receptive skin. It tickles and he knows you love it. He feels so warm against you, loving and strong. You wait for his lead.

A few moments elapse and you haven’t felt his hand slide between your thighs like he normally does when he wants to initiate sex. Sometimes he just kisses you like this, slow and soft, until he falls asleep with you in his arms. His hand slides up your bicep and he pulls the strap of you top down, over your shoulder, laying kisses in it’s wake.

He takes a steadying breath against the flesh and begins, “I want you to tell me exactly what you’d like me to do to you with my belt.”

The way he slows down and enunciates ‘my belt’ makes you feel faint and for a moment your mind reels.

You swallow hard and focus intently on your words, “You mean it?” Despite your efforts the question rolls off your tongue in a quaking whisper.

“Si, cariño,” he replies against your shoulder, his breath warm and tantalizing.

You bite your bottom lip as he holds you firm, waiting. “I suppose… that I… um,” you swallow hard again, “would like you to…”

Christ, this shouldn’t be this difficult. “To… tell me I’ve been naughty and put me across your knees. Or…a…make me get on all fours on the bed and … a… hit me with your belt,” just saying the word made you ache with want.

His breathing was steady as you went on, listening intently to every syllable.

“After I’ve been,” you clear your throat absentmindedly, “punished, I’d … like … you to… slip your belt around my neck and,” you wanted to say fuck, but Rafi always considered it such a low-brow phrase, “and have sex with me from behind.”

“Anything else?” His words are matter-of-fact.

“No,” you whisper.

“I just have one rule, if I start doing something that you don’t like I want you to tell me to stop” his voice is solemn, earnest.

“Agreed,” you breathe.

Without hesitation he rolls over, turning on the bedside lamp, its dim glow illuminating the bedroom.

“Get up,” he orders, “Make up the bed.”

He leaves the room and you do as your told, smoothing out the comforter, shaking a little at the thought of what’s about to happen.

“I want you to strip down and get on all fours for me,” he commands from the other room.

You comply, fingers shaky as you pull off the camisole and slide your pajama bottoms and panties to the floor. You crawl up on the bed and wait. It seems to be taking an eternity for him to come back and you feel so exposed, breasts hanging in the air, sex bared, ass up. You wonder if maybe he’s changed his mind or gotten cold feet until you hear the rustling of clothes and door being latched behind you. You chance a look over your shoulder, feeling a little awkward. He’s fully dressed again, grey suit pants, blue striped shirt, crooked yellow tie, and belt.

“Eyes forward,” he tells you without looking up, focusing on rolling up his sleeves.

You can hear him walking across the carpet, feel his eyes sliding across your backside. He presses a hand to your lower back, up and up, to your neck. He takes hold of your hair and pulls you up onto your knees, breath a little ragged against your ear.

“Has sido una chica muy traviesa. You’ve been a very naughty girl,” he speaks in a low tone that is almost a snarl.

He pulls harder on your hair forcing your head back and bites your neck, not to hard, but enough to let you know he means business. A moan escapes your lips and pauses for a brief moment, his other hand slipping across your stomach and over your solar plexus as he waits for you to relax a little. He continues, one hand still tangled in your hair the other ghosting over your breasts, teasing your nipples, pinching, twisting between his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes roll back and you shudder from the contact, forcing your arms to remain at your sides. He slides his hand back down, sucking at your shoulder before throwing you back down.

The clinking of his belt buckle seems to echo in your ears. He slides it out of his belt loops. For a long moment he is still and silent. You tremble with the anticipation of the first swat. Though, it doesn’t come straight away. Warm leather caresses your bottom, as if he wants to introduce you slowly to the belt. His breathing is more controlled now. Rafael’s hand rests squarely on your tail bone and presses you down until your back is arched nicely for him.

“Bueno. Perfecta,” he whispers.

The leather disappears and then lands against your left cheek with a thud. It only warms the skin, but he pauses, keeping his hand firm on your back. He swings again, a little harder, and it pops against your right buttock. You breathe through the little sting. He pauses and waits. The next slap is harder and you moan a little, encouraging him to keep going.

Slowly he works up to a steady rhythm, the pressure increased until your moaning for him with every connection of leather to flesh. His breathing grows heavy with each smack and you can hear the exertion.

In a fluid motion he stops the onslaught and bends over you, the belt wrapping around your neck as his adept fingers slip the leather through the buckle he cinches it tight, but not enough to choke. With one hand on the strap the other moves between your thighs, rubbing against your aching sex. The contact feels amazing and you move your hips against Rafael’s palm.

“Tan mojada para mi, querida,” his accent heavy with desire, “Be still.”

You will yourself to hold still for him as Rafi’s fingers circle your clit, soft and steady. You moan like a whore as he hits the mark, dropping your head. He pulls the belt taught and makes you arch your back. It’s sweet torture as he fingers you and toys with you. He switches hands and begins the unfasten his trousers.

With careful movement he presses his engorged cock inside, slowly, tentatively, letting you adjust, taking time to enjoy all the slick heat of your tight cunt. He winds the belt a little tighter around one hand and grabs your hip with the other. He pulls back and thrusts deeper, lingering for a moment and repeating. The tightness at you neck begins to cut off circulation, sending your mind spiraling, as his thrusts grow more powerful and closer together. Rafael drives harder and harder, burying himself to the hilt, filling you, giving you the friction you crave.

You can barely hear him over the sound of the throbbing in your ears. All you know is ecstasy in the chaos. Your core quivers and melts and you come, hard, shaking and trying to cry out. You can feel him cum inside you before the black swallows you.

…

When you come to Rafi is in his boxers next to you, touching your face slowly, calling you back to consciousness. You can’t really hear the words, but you know the sound of his voice and warmth of his finger tips. Your body tingles from head to toe. You wouldn’t mind waking up this way more often. You chuckle, a goofy grin stretching across your face.

“Mi amado,” he whispers, “you alright?”

Rafael’s expression is kind, but strained with concern.

“Yeah,” you speak gently, touching his hair and brushing the backs of your fingers against his five-o'clock shadow, “that was absolutely wonderful.”

You linger on the ‘L’ in wonderful a little too long and Rafi takes your outstretched palm in his, kissing the back of your hand with tender affection.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to pass out,” his expression goes pallid.

“No, no, my love. It was perfect. You were perfect.”

There is a shower afterward, with him kissing you beneath the rushing water. His hands roam over the raised flesh of your buttocks and even if he wouldn’t admit it, he takes some small pride in being the only person who can bring you this satisfaction.

As you drift into slumber, warm and dry beneath the sheets, he holds you, murmuring in Spanish and kissing your shoulder.


End file.
